


when were we ever good

by lilabut



Series: the dirt in which our roots may grow [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Sequence, F/M, Missing Scene, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple <i>no</i> proves to be a shift, a turning point. <i>A short series of missing moments from 6x13.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	when were we ever good

The warmth of his hand is a constant presence, hovering just above the small of her back. Even through her coat she can feel it tingling. It holds her upright, even though he now seems to hesitate to really touch her, unlike before.  
  
In her mind, the memory of his touch is still sharp. The relief of his hand on her shoulder. The grounding brush of his finger beneath her chin. The comfort of his chest pressed to hers and his hand cupping her head. Still, it is a somber memory compared to another, to an embrace that lifted her off her feet and brought along a rush of joy incomparable to anything since the world ended.  
  
She has pushed him away for so long now, has even pulled herself away when he surrendered and stopped his efforts to approach her and her floral, flour-dusted disguise, that it had felt brand new.  
  
She is far from good. Every cell in her body feels tainted and charred. Lying to Daryl has never been an option. Even when she did it in the past, fleetingly and with a smirk, it was in full knowledge that he would know. The time for those effortless lies are over. She needs him to know that she is not okay, not good.  
  
 _Ya had ta do it_ , he suddenly mutters, hoarse voice and loud exhales. _Whatever ya did in there._  
  
Her head shakes numbly. _No_. He knows what is troubling her, and yet he does not. He can see her for who she really is, a rare gift he has always possessed - and maybe not being able to hide herself from his scorching eyes is her greatest weakness. Lately, though, Carol feels as if Daryl is beginning to only see what he wants to see when he dares to hold her gaze.  
  
It frightens her, to have become a riddle even to him.  
  
He helps her up the steps into the RV, and sits down next to her without ceremony and without even considering a different spot. He merely falls into place by her side, and it reminds her of the old days. Before the prison on the road, when he'd wordlessly place his bedroll next to her, when she'd slip onto the back of his bike without offer. Two outsiders slowly settling into their positions in the group.

 

She has missed this, Carol realizes mournfully.  
  
 _Gimme ya hand._ Daryl takes it before she can comply, calloused fingers drifting across her blood stained palm. The rosary is stuffed into her pocket, digging sharply into her thigh. She allows him to tend to the wound, feeling like a swan, silent and doomed. Whatever voice she has, it is locked away in her throat.  
  
If she talks now, she fears all will come crashing down. A final dance of blood and flames. He wants to comfort her, she knows. But he can not be there to witness the grand finale, when even her fragile shell would be set aflame.  
  
She can not put him through that.

 

* * *

 

 

It is still light outside, the dim glow of twilight flooding the room in a warm but distant light. She stands by the window, and it all seems like deja vu, her arms curled around herself, palm bandaged, eyes drifting down towards the abandonned street.

 

Daryl does not know what to say to her anymore. With a lump burning in his throat he turns away, ready to walk out of her room and leave her to the pain she will not let him soothe. Earlier, when she shook her head and fell limply into his embrace, he had hoped for a crack in her facade. Now, he is not so sure anymore.

 

_Stay?_ Her voice is so quiet and broken, just the breadth of a whisper that shatters from the impact of speaking, and it breaks him apart slowly. She still stands there facing away from him. Her earlier confession drags between them, not leaving his mind alone. It had been no surprise, he is not that blind. Nobody who claims to know her at all has missed that she is far from alright. Else she would not hide herself away the way she does.

 

Partly, he blames himself. Whatever happened after the prison, it is still haunting her to this day, one more drop of dark blood. Back then, he should have been more insistent, should have drained the poison of her secret. It has taken hold of her now.

 

_Ya sure? h_ e asks, carefully. His need to stay and let her know that she is not alone is overwhelming, but he does not want her to invite him into her pain out of guilt.

 

Her head shakes softly, gray hair curly and shiny. _No._

 

It is what he feared, but he is weak around her, and much too tired to take a stand. Walking up behind her, his palms find her upper arms, fall into place there as if they were made for nothing else. Not for killing, not for hunting. Simply for this, holding her. Assisting her in holding herself together.

 

She seems to both tense under his touch and relax into it, swaying just a little on her feet and backwards until her back is hovering just an inch away from his chest.

 

A small sound escapes her lips.

 

_Where are ya?_ he whispers, feeling her shudder as his breath fans along the exposed skin of her neck. She smells like flowers, oddly juxtaposed to the bleakness in her every move. Any other day, being this close to her would have frightened him or set his blood aflame. Now, nothing stirs, and the void that stretches is one he can not fill.

 

She is far, far away, only a shell of the woman he remembers. _I don't know._

 

This is not the end, he will not let this be the end. _Gotta stay right here_ , he urges, a small glimpse of hope born inside him when she drifts even closer into his chaste embrace.

 

He will make it alright again, and even if that fails, he can do what he has always done: make her see.


End file.
